Trading Places
by magfreak
Summary: Modern AU in which Lady Sybil is a housemaid, and Tom is not what he seems when she first meets him. Quick two parter first posted on tumblr last year.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a story that I posted on tumblr a year ago today. I have lots (and lots to update), but I found this in my files while procrastinating and decided to post here to motivate myself. If this is the first time you've seen this one (or even if it isn't), please let me know what you think! I'll post the follow up later this weekend._

* * *

From the side of her eyes Sybil saw Gwen pass by the open bathroom door, and before Sybil could object, Gwen took out her mobile and snapped a picture of Sybil kneeling in front of the toilet, scrub brush in one hand and bottle of disinfectant in the other.

"Lady Sybil Crawley, housemaid," Gwen said. "Definitely one to keep for posterity."

"You're not putting it on Instagram, are you?" Sybil asked.

"And have it end up in Hello Magazine like last time? No, thank you."

"Oh, I don't care about that," Sybil said, standing up, her task complete. "It's only that I'm having dinner at Downton next week, and Edith or Mary will no doubt make a comment about it, and then I'll have to hear it from mum and dad."

"You mean Lord and Lady Grantham don't like the fact that their noble daughter is scrubbing toilets for extra money while she finishes medical school?" Gwen asked, the sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Sybil smirked. "As a matter of fact they don't, and there are only so many times I can explain that I am saving my trust to open the free clinic."

"They'll come around when the Queen makes you a dame for all your work providing health care for addicts and sex workers."

Sybil smiled. "I won't hold my breath on that, but I appreciate your support anyway."

Gwen smiled back and lifted the mop in her hand. "Well, I'm done in the kitchen. Just need to put the supplies back in the garage."

Sybil nodded and followed Gwen through the posh Belgravia house they'd spent the last three hours cleaning.

"Mrs. Weston said her son—I can't remember his first name—would be coming by to pick up his car this afternoon," Gwen added, "You know how she can be, so we should go before he gets here . . . or maybe you could stick around and get a look at him. It's been quite a while since you . . . you know."

Sybil laughed. "I doubt someone who grew up in this kind of house is going to go for a housemaid."

"But you're not really a housemaid, are you?"

"I clean houses for money. Isn't that what a housemaid does?"

Gwen gave Sybil a knowing look.

"Oh, all right, but on this day, I look the part of a housemaid, and anyway, I wouldn't want a man who would need to be reassured about my social status to ask me out."

"But you'd go for it if he did?" Gwen asked eagerly.

"Let's just take the gear to the garage and go home."

They were just a few feet from the door when Gwen stopped short. "Bollocks! I've not got the broom. Must have left it upstairs somewhere."

"Go," Sybil said, "I'll wait."

"No, you go ahead," Gwen replied. "I'll catch up. It'll get us out of here faster."

Sybil took the mop and bucket Gwen was carrying and juggled it with her own caddy of supplies. Gwen headed back toward the main part of the house, and Sybil turned to open the garage door.

* * *

 _Meanwhile in the garage_

"Only you could manage to change spark plugs without getting a dot of grease on your suit," Alfred said wiping his own grease-stained hands against his coveralls. "You're a hero to all mechanics, Tom Branson."

"Or just very careful," Tom said with a smirk as he closed the hood of the Ferrari he and his partner had been working on. "I couldn't reschedule the interview, and I need to get this story done by tomorrow if I want a hope of getting more freelance work from this magazine."

"I can stay to give Weston his keys, if you like?"

Tom opened the driver's side door of the car and climbed in. "He said just to leave them in the ignition. The two women who clean the house will set the alarm when they leave."

"Two women?"

Tom nodded as he started the car, grinning at the hum of the engine, proud of his handy-work. "They're inside I presume."

Alfred began picking up their tools. "I suppose it would be bad form to go in and ask one of them out."

Tom laughed as he turned off the car again. "Yes, Alfred, very bad."

"Not many birds go for mechanics these days anyway. But maybe with those clothes you could fool one of them into thinking _you_ are David Weston."

Tom leaned back in the seat laughing. "I think the Irish accent and cheap shoes would give me away."

"Worth a shot. It's been far too long for you mate."

Tom shook his head with a laugh and moved to get out of the car.

"I'll just take these to the van, then," Alfred said and headed out the side door.

At just that moment, Sybil opened the door into the garage and stepped in without looking up. Despite her best efforts, she could not manage all the supplies she was holding and the door, so three steps in, she fell forward dropping everything.

Tom was there in an instant.

"Bloody hell," Sybil whispered, grimacing at the pain in her left knee.

"Are you all right?"

Sybil looked up and might have felt a little light-headed even if the pain from falling hadn't made her so.

Tom was likewise rather dumbstruck. _Are all housemaids this gorgeous?_

Realizing who this was—or rather, making an incorrect assumption—she gasped and said, "Oh, dear! So sorry, Mr. Weston! We were just finishing up. I didn't realize we'd taken so long. We'll be out of your hair in just a moment."

In her haste, she tried to scramble to her feet and fell again. This time he caught her.

"Are you all right?" Tom repeated.

"Er, yeah," she said, now feeling deeply embarrassed. "Let me just—"

Before she could complete the thought, though, he pulled her up on her feet as if she were as light as a feather.

"I'm really, truly sorry," she said. "I know Mrs. Weston doesn't like it when we don't finish before the family is home."

"The help should be neither seen nor heard?" Tom joked.

Sybil's lips curled into a hesitant smile. "Something like that."

"Well, I certainly don't mind having seen _you_ ," Tom said. Sybil blushed at the compliment and he did too, realizing how lecherous it sounded.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, "that was wholly inappropriate."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Tom smiled. "Need help?" he asked, pointing to the mess of things she'd dropped on the floor.

"Oh, God, please don't. I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

"Don't be silly." Tom bent down to pick things up and walked them over to a supply closet in the corner. "Is this where they go?"

"Oh, yes, sorry," Sybil said moving quickly, picking up everything else and walking over to the closet.

Once everything was in its place, Tom said, "I should be going," without making any effort to move from where he stood.

"Well, thanks for the help," she said quietly.

"Anytime," he responded with a smile that made her weak at the knees. "I'm Tom, by the way."

Sybil took the hand he had extended shook it. "I'm Sybil."

Not wanting to leave, but not having any other excuse to stay, he let go and turned toward the garage's outside exit.

"Are you any good at pub quizes?"

Tom turned with what he hoped wasn't a plainly obvious eagerness. "Uh . . . I'm all right, I suppose."

Sybil bit her lip. "My friends and I go every Thursday and we're one short tonight. If you're free, you could join us."

Tom was so taken aback that he didn't answer right away, and Sybil, taking this as a no, thought of Gwen's comment minutes before. _You're not really a housemaid, are you?_

"Never mind," she said quickly. "Probably not your thing."

"What time?"

"Pardon."

"I'd love to come," he said. "What time? I have somewhere I have to be for a bit this evening, but I can come after, yeah?"

Sybil felt herself blush once more. "Oh. Um, 9 o'clock."

"Here," he said, taking his pen and reporter's notebook from his back pocket and tearing a sheet off. "Have my number. Text me the details and I'll come."

Sybil took the paper from him, trying to contain her excitement. "OK." She took her mobile from her pocket, tapped his number and promptly sent a text and said, "There, now you have mine." Looking back at the door, she added, "I should go see what's holding up my friend."

"See you tonight, then?" Tom said.

"Yeah," Sybil replied.

Back inside the house, she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin. She ran back into Gwen in the kitchen, and Gwen immediately noticed the change in her demeanor.

"What's with you?"

With a grin Sybil said. "Turns out, there are posh boys who _will_ go out with a housemaid."

"WHAT!?"

As Sybil explained what had just happened, Tom was making his way back outside to where Alfred was waiting for him.

"What took you so long?"

Tom smiled. "If I told you, I'm not sure you would believe it. I'm rather inclined to think I've just been hallucinating."

"What happened?"

"A beautiful girl just asked me out."

Tom was climbing into the van when he heard his mobile buzz once and then again. Two new messages.

 _It's Sybil. Nice to meet you._

 _Thanks for not telling your mum you found us here ;)_

Tom had to read the second several times before he realized what it meant.

 _Oh, dear! So sorry, Mr. Weston! We were just finishing up._

He hadn't corrected her.

"Oh, bloody hell."


	2. Chapter 2

_Here's the follow up. Enjoy!_

* * *

"OK, that's the fourth time you've looked at the clock in the last five minutes! He texted to say he was running late—it's only nine-bloody-fifteen."

Sybil rolled her eyes at Gwen's admonishment but couldn't help but slump down in her barstool and sigh. "I just keep thinking he's going to find some excuse not to come."

"Then he's a wanker and you can forget about him without feeling guilty."

"I know," Sybil responded, though Gwen could see forgetting this "Tom" person was not going to happen easily.

"Did he hypnotize you or something?" asked their friend Daisy, who, like Gwen, was surprised at how taken Sybil had been with a man she'd spoken to for less than ten minutes. Both Gwen and Daisy knew Sybil to be among the most sensible of their friends and the least likely to lose her head over a nice-looking bloke.

"No!" Sybil responded quickly. Seeing her two friends eyeing her skeptically, she set her head on her hands as if giving up the ruse. "I don't know. He was just so helpful and adorable with his blue eyes and rumpled suit. Don't you ever just get . . . a _feeling_ about someone?"

"Usually, they buy me dinner first," Gwen deadpanned, sending Daisy and Sybil into a fit of giggles.

"You know what I mean," Sybil said, after composing herself.

"You had instant chemistry," Daisy said. "It happens."

"Not to me," Sybil said. "Not usually, at least."

Just then, their friend Thomas, who'd been fetching their pints before the quiz started, came up precariously carrying four glasses full of beer. Once they'd taken their respective drinks, Thomas sat down and asked, "So mystery friend is not here yet?"

"He'll be here . . . I hope," Sybil said.

"I hope so too," Thomas if only to see the man who garnered the unique distinction of being asked out by Lady Sybil Crawley—a rare breed indeed."

"I've asked out men before," Sybil replied.

Thomas arched an eyebrow in her direction, causing everyone to laugh.

With a roll of her eyes, Sybil said, "All right, so it's not a common occurrence, and anyway, he's not even here yet, so it could all be for not."

"I think you're wrong about that," Gwen said, pointing to Sybil's phone, which was buzzing on the table.

Sybil picked up the mobile as it rang, Tom's name flashing on the screen, but she looked on it with dread. "He's canceling. Why else call if he's not canceling?"

"Only one way to find out," Thomas said, taking the phone from her hands, answering the call for Sybil and handing it immediately back to her for her to speak.

"Hello?" Sybil said, trying to sound as casual as possible and jumping off her stool and toward the pub door for a bit of privacy.

"Hi, Sybil, it's Tom. Um, we met earlier today. I rescued you from an attack of cleaning supplies."

Sybil smiled and could feel herself blushing. "Yes, I remember. How are you? Are you on your way? The quiz is about to start."

"Actually, I'm here . . . I'm outside. Do you mind coming out for a minute?"

Sybil bit her lip, puzzled as to his request. "Uh, sure. I'll be right out." She hung up her phone and stepped out into the chilly London air.

"Hi," Tom called out from where he stood under a lamppost several yards away from the pub's entrance.

"Hi," Sybil responded, quietly.

"Sorry about dragging you out here," he said, walking up to her with what seemed to Sybil like a nervous smile and looking even more handsome than he did this afternoon. _If that's possible_ , Sybil thought.

"Are you coming in?" she asked tentatively.

"Er . . . I'd like to, but I wanted to tell you something first, in case it would change your mind."

Sybil's brow furrowed. "You're not a homicidal lunatic, are you? Or a Justin Bieber fan? Because those would certainly be deal breakers for me."

Tom laughed and hoped against hope that what he was going to say wasn't going to change things. "No, I'm neither of those things."

"Then what?"

Tom took a deep breath and was about to speak when Sybil interrupted him.

"If you'd really rather not come in, you can just go," she said. "You don't have to come up with some excuse." Tom watched her as she spoke. She was fidgeting with her hands and looking down. "I don't usually ask random guys out—not that I think doing that is a bad thing. It's just not me. I'm not really sure what came over me when I saw you, it's just . . . if you want to, just go." She turned abruptly to go back inside, but Tom caught her arm.

"That's not it at all. It's stupid really, and I feel like a right ass."

They were now standing very close to each other. Tom hadn't just stopped her motion away from him. He'd effectively pulled her in.

"What?" she said quietly, her liquid eyes open wide, practically staring into his soul.

"I don't live in that house."

"Pardon me?"

"When you saw me, you called me Mr. Weston, and I went over to help you and we started talking and you asked me out. I was so bowled over by it all that it didn't occur to me until later that I didn't correct you."

"So, you're not the son of the family who live in the house?"

Tom shook his head and laughed nervously. "I don't think I could be further from that if I tried."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'm a mechanic, and an Irish working class lad. The house I grew up in could fit inside the garage alone."

Sybil let out a breath of relief—though Tom couldn't read her expression well enough to know whether she was disappointed. " _That's_ what you were nervous about telling me?"

He shrugged. "Now . . . if _you_ don't want me to come in it's OK. You thought I was someone I wasn't when you invited me so—"

"Do I look like a fortune hunter to you?" Sybil crossed her arms in from of her chest. There was no mistaking her expression now. He'd offended her.

Tom scratched the back of his head. "Well, no but—"

"But you think I don't want to go out with you now that you've revealed you're not some posh prick?

"I just wanted to be honest, and give you an out if you wanted one. And for the record, I've met David Weston and he's not _that_ much of a prick—for someone who drives a Ferrari, anyway."

Sybil chuckled. "Does he make you wear a suit when you work on his car?"

"Oh, no. That was for an interview I had to go to after. I freelance as a journalist—at least, I'm trying to."

"That's brilliant!" Sybil said sincerely.

Tom smiled. "So, um … shall we go in?"

Sybil smiled and extended her hand. He slipped his into hers and followed as she walked toward the pub door. He walked past her to open the door and was about to walk inside, when he felt her hand pull him back.

"What is it?" he asked, puzzled.

"Actually, there's something I need to tell _you_ ," Sybil said. "You want to start without any false pretenses, and you're right to do that."

"You have something to confess too?" Tom asked playfully. "Let me guess, you're not really a housemaid?"

Sybil smiled, wide-eyed at how well he guessed. "No, I'm not … well, yes, I am. That is to say, I do it with my friend for extra money, but, well, I don't exactly need to."

Tom raised his eyebrows in question.

"I'm the daughter of an earl."

Tom laughed, thinking she was joking, but his laughter died as he watched her, realizing that she was serious. "Really?"

Sybil nodded and shrugged her shoulders slightly. "It's a long story."

"You're going to tell me before the night is over," Tom said with a wink and turned toward the door again.

And again, he felt Sybil's hand in his, tugging him back outside.

"Wha—"

She'd pulled him all the way into her. And into a kiss.

"What was that for?" he whispered as they pulled apart.

Sybil bit her lip, still unable to believe what she'd just done. "It's going to be a long night. I'm the impatient sort."

Tom pulled her into another kiss. "Me too."


End file.
